by Oluseun Onigbinde

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24. Imperfection

Igbekele eniyan, asan ni

Putting one’s trust in man is a big disappointment.

There was this ALUTA that we did in FUNAAB. Students blocked the access route to the University right from camp. Still not satisfied, we decided to march to the Governors office but one thing has to happen. We had to walk past the Police Headquarters, Eleweran. The Police won’t allow it. We should go back. We have no reason to disturb public peace, they said. In the midst of such bickering and shouting. Next thing, we heard a loud sound. Was it a gun?

Everyone ran. We ran away, into the bush. We could not pass the main route back to town. So we had to walk through the bushes. We did this for three hours. Finding a way back to town.

Tired and very tired. We saw a palmwine shop and we quickly ran into it to end our thirst. I had no challenge if anyone drank palm wine at that moment but this fellowship brother, who sings, does drama, very spirit filled and well respected after finishing a calabash of palm wine, lit cigarette immediately. It was unbelievable for me. Brother Tope!

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I once saw this lady in the University and I was liking her. She ticked the right boxes with her curvy hips, soft fingers and cool voice. I asked which church she attended, she said “Christ Embassy”. Still liking this lovely girl, I decided to go there. I would stay in, listen with rapt attention. Most times after fellowship on Wednesday, a two-minute chat is just enough for me. That scatters butterflies in my head.

One Saturday just to wake up and stretch outside, I saw this lady, clad in a loose wrapper, by the opposite window of our hostel. One of the “Big boys” picked her up at those wild parties for an overnight adventure. The thing between my legs went so cold. A sister of God!

I have seen a white woman, someone you expect to be of great decorum as the world has craved it to be, behave like a typical Abuja civil servant. A married brother doing aristo for small girls.

I have always asked myself, do people change too much or maybe we just don’t pay enough attention to them? Have we cast a standard for them to live by that in essence we just lose their sense of freedom?

Like if really I turn down by silent Google search history, access my vaults of secrets kept with Abiola Afolabi, unravel the lonely walks in the night, see the silent vanities of my heart, will you still be proud of me? Won’t you abandon this humble, intelligent, christian mould of my flawed self that has been cast?

I hardly get disappointed in men. I do my best not to be disappointed in myself, setting certain thick lines of principles but sometimes I fall short. I am working on it. The best of men are still men.